


Comment!Fic

by pasdexcuses



Category: Social Network (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-30
Updated: 2012-01-30
Packaged: 2017-10-30 08:31:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/329816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pasdexcuses/pseuds/pasdexcuses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Hello? Is this the suicide hotline?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Comment!Fic

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Playing In The Rain Is Worth Catching The Cold](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/6611) by savetomorrow. 



> Written for/as a response to [](http://savetomorrow.livejournal.com/profile)[**savetomorrow**](http://savetomorrow.livejournal.com/) 's gorgeous fic, [Playing In The Rain Is Worth Catching The Cold](http://savetomorrow.livejournal.com/15180.html). If you haven't read it, go read, it is _amazing._ And then come back and read this.

_  
**Untitled**  
_

It’s officially the 26th of December, and Mark is holed up in his office, staring at the ceiling.

He doesn’t have anything to do.

All his minions, ahem, workers, all his workers are on leave for Christmas and all the code that he can get done he already got done so, again, nothing to do. 

What he should be doing is sleeping. He should but he isn’t because it’s one thirty-three in the morning of December the 26th and Christmas is now gone. It’s not that Mark celebrates the holiday. It’s that there are all these things hanging from the ceiling, all that fake snow everywhere he looks and it reminds Mark of things that hurt somewhere deep in his chest. 

Things Mark, on principle, doesn’t think about. Because that particular world of possibilities is a closed case. 

Mark sighs.

Maybe he should get home.

Maybe.

He’s going to, really.

Mark’s heading home.

But then he remembers the purple post-it in his pocket.

Well, it can’t hurt, can it?

Mark can’t recognize the number. Then again, he’s never been in need of this particular service before.

It rings.

Once, twice. 

Then someone picks up and before they talk Mark is saying, “Hello? Is this the suicide hotline?”

There’s silence on the other end of the line. Mark stomach sinks. Of course this isn’t a real number. _Of course_.

But then, the person on the other end is drawing in a deep breath a saying.

“Mark, are you okay?” 

Mark knows that voice. He’d recognize it anywhere.

And he can’t breathe. Gripping tightly the edge of his desk, Mark wheezes because his chest is tight, and Mark _can’t fucking breathe_. It’s been so long, so fucking long. 

He can’t speak, he can’t even move, everything in him going tight and limp, all at the same time. His stomach drops, feels heavy even though he hasn’t eaten in hours. 

Of course the number Dustin gave him is fake. Of courseDustin would pull shit like this on him. 

“Mark, please, talk to me,” Eduardo pleads through the phone and it registers in Mark’s brain that he’s never quite sounded like this.

Desperate. Worried.

“Mark, look, whatever is wrong, I’m sure we can sort it out. Just, just listen to me and don’t… _don’t do it_.”  

Then Mark thinks. He thinks and realizes that his first words were _is this the suicide hotline_. He realizes that Eduardo must be having some panic attack of his own but not because Mark called but because he thinks Mark is going to kill himself.

Well, fuck. 

Fucking Dustin.

Mark inhales, braces himself on the desk.

“Wardo,” he breathes out.

“Oh, _god_ , Mark, I thought… You weren’t answering and I… Jesus, Mark, don’t, don’t do anything stupid, okay? I’ll… I’ll fly over and we’ll talk about this. I’m here for you. Uh, I mean, I’ll be there for you, just, just, wait for me, okay? Mark? Mark, come on, talk to me.”

Mark is too busy blinking himself into stupidity because Eduardo. Eduardo just. 

Did he really just say what Mark heard him say? 

“Wardo, I’m not going to kill myself,” Mark admits because it’s the only rational thing he can think of saying.

“Good, that’s good, Mark there’s no—”

“No, I mean. I didn’t call because I was going to kill myself,” Mark elaborates.

There’s a pause before Eduardo groans into the line.

“Then why the _fuck_ ,” he starts, voice low and angry. “Did you call me asking if I was a _suicide_ hotline, Mark? What the fuck is wrong with you! Do you have any idea what you just did? How worried I was? Mark, I thought my heart was going to jump out. How can you be so fucking selfish, you asshole. _God_ , just what is—”

“It’s not my fault.”

“Like hell it isn’t your fault!”

“No, it isn’t. Dustin gave me your number but told me it was a suicide hotline. I didn’t think I’d be calling _you,_ of all people. I’d never ca— I’d never do that. Pretending to be killing myself, do you think I’d do that? Jesus, what kind of fucked up idiot does shit like that anyway?”

Eduardo doesn’t answer.

Instead, he says, “So you were calling a hotline.” His tone careful, like he doesn’t want to scare Mark away.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, I wanted to talk to someone.”

“And the best option you had was a suicide line?”

“What do you even care?” Mark spats out.

Mark expects Eduardo to do a lot of things. Expects him to hang up. To yell and tell Mark to go fuck himself.

He’s not expecting Eduardo saying, “I… It doesn’t, none of it… It’s… Mark, we’re frie—”Eduardo stops before he says the word. Stops himself and breathes. “Whatever happens, Mark, I don’t want to see you dead.”

Eduardo’s words make Mark swallow down hard.

“Well, I’m not going to kill myself, so there.”

“Mark, I… Just, _god_. Don’t call a suicide hotline, Mark. If you’re ever that desperate you can always call—”

“Look, it was a mistake, okay? It wasn’t even my fault.”

Mark realizes only after the words have left his mouth that maybe Eduardo was about to say something important.

That maybe he should’ve let Eduardo finish that sentence.

“I know, Mark. I heard you. Dustin gave you the number. You’re not doing anything stupid, I get it. It’s fine, really. I understand that this was all one big mistake. I’m not an idiot. You wouldn’t call me to ta—”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine, Mark. Honestly, it wasn’t your fault.”

“No, I mean. I’m sorry. For Facebook. For doing that to you. I’m sorry.”

“Mark, what are you—”

“I should’ve, I should’ve apologized before. I’m sorry. God, I can’t believe I’m doing this right now. But, I’m sorry. It wasn’t… I didn’t mean to hurt you. I… _never_ wanted to hurt you. Honestly, you have to believe that… Wardo? Wardo, are you still there?”

He is. Mark can hear Eduardo’s steady breathing over the phone so he knows for a fact that he’s still there. Eduardo is there but he’s not speaking and Mark. Mark has to say something because who knows when Eduardo will talk to him again?

“I…” Mark tries for words. There’s really only one thing he wants to say. “I miss you.”

It takes a moment for Eduardo to reply.

When he does, his reply is a very puzzling, “God, I hate Dustin.”

“ _What_?”

“He’s such a sneaky, sleazy, little bastard. Of course he knew what this was going to do.”

“Of course,” Mark agrees because, suicide hotline, really? “So?”

“So? So, I miss you, too, you idiot,” Eduardo answers and laughs a little. “And don’t you _ever_ call me again asking if I’m a suicide hotline, for Christ’s sake,” he adds. “You seriously almost gave me a heart-attack.”

“I won’t, I promise.”

“Good. Listen, I gotta head out but I’ll, uh, I’ll call you, okay?”

“Or I can always come over.”

“Or you can always come o—” Eduardo starts parroting in a disbelieving tone. “Mark, you do realize I live on the other side of the planet? You can’t just _come over_. That’s insane. That’s—”

“I’m a billionaire, haven’t you heard? I can. I am, in fact, booking myself a ticket.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Fine, I’m not. But I think I should.”

“Mark.”

“Wardo.”

“Fine, fine.”

“This is not really a problem, is it?”

“No, I, uh, I want to see you, too.”

“Good. So, I’ll come over.”

“Yes, Jesus, yes.”

“Actually, my name is Mark.”

“Shut up, smartass.”

“I’ll see you.”

“Yeah.”

Then Mark hears the line go dead before he disconnects. 

It’s only then that he notices he has let go of his death grip on the desk. 

  



End file.
